Memories: the Antidote to Solitude
by JMorrissey
Summary: A middle-aged Harry looks back on his time with Luna at Hogwarts and, after being alone on Christmas Day, resolves to track her down so that he can tell her how he feels.


Chapter

Ten long years have passed since I finally vanquished Voldemort in that old Hogwarts courtyard, and in that time I have learned a great many things. But there's one thing in particular that I've been turning something over in my mind: a piece of advice given to me by my hated uncle in my more impressionable years.

"Nothing lasts forever, boy". He told me, gruffly, "Enjoy it while you can."

Many years have passed since then, with each one I am sure that I have grown more cynical, and, although I am now quite sure that he meant this as some kind of a threat rather than piece of fatherly or loving advice, at the time I was _so_ young and optimistic that I thanked him for what I (naively) saw as a rare paternal gesture. Well, it's been almost forty (forty!) years since then, but I never forgot this strange maxim from the most unexpected of bearers.

It's only in the last few years, though, that I have realised that my uncle's warning was entirely accurate: everything that I once had and so often took for granted has now faded away into pages of the history books, and I wonder every day whether I will ever have life will ever treat me so well as it did during my Hogwarts years, when I felt more safe and loved than I ever had before, and ever have since.

You might be wondering what triggered this pessimistic epiphany, and I suppose that I'm going to tell you. I think that the trigger must have been when the _one thing_ that I always thought would endure the slow corrosion of passing years did, in fact, start to crumble, and that day was the day on which Ron married Hermione.

There isn't room for a third person in a marriage, especially after the children start to arrive. The trio swiftly became a duo and although we'll always remain the closest of friends, Ron and Hermione have a family to look after now.

In consequence, I have often since found myself returning to Vernon Dursley's golden rule. I can still hear him snorting in my head: _"Nothing lasts forever, boy"_

Ginny? She didn't last. Our relationship was over before it started, really. She would always associate me with her brother's death, and I could never escape the suspicion that my actions had, indeed, taken her brother away from her. And I haven't spoken to Neville in years. I don't even know where is he is nowadays, or what he's doing. Just another friendship that didn't, couldn't, last forever.

But there is one person, one person in twenty eight years, who is exempt from my judgement and my pessimism. One person who, even as the world has morphed into new dangers and new challenges, still has never changed from the smiling, pretty girl I met back when I was just fifteen. This one exception to Vernon Dursley's golden rule has preyed on my solitary mind for quite some time now, and her name is Luna Lovegood.

I met her in my fifth year, but back then she was just a friend of Ginny's and, as such, was someone of only minor significance in my life at Hogwarts. She was an enthusiastic and loyal DA member, but I only started to look twice at her after that night in the Department of Mysteries when as just a fourteen year old girl she calmly stood tall against Voldemort's most powerful servants, and escaped unscathed.

The night that truly epitomises everything that you need to know about Luna Lovegood is that of the Christmas SlugClub Party: she was my date, though only as a friend. It is with weary but affectionate retrospect that I realise that this night was the catalyst for everything else that I went on to share with Luna Lovegood

The night could barely have started worse. We had earlier agreed to meet at seven o'clock in the evening, outside the Great Hall. But as Hermione will testify, I never was the best timekeeper and as such as I found myself running through Hogwarts' corridors at five minutes past our arranged time, trying to slick back my hair and straighten out my smart dress robes (which had until ten minutes ago been lying, rumpled, in the bottom of my trunk). Skidding round the corner, I saw my date for the evening waiting patiently in the middle of the corridor and I approached her, quickly trying to formulate an excuse for my tardiness.

Luna did not seem to notice me as I approached; she seemed entirely fixated on a tiny ladybird clinging to the nail of her left hand's finger. As I approached it quickly took flight and fled into the night sky. Luna watched it as it flew away with a dreamy smile.

"Sorry I'm late, Luna. You look... interesting." I said, breathlessly, and quickly corrected myself. "What a nice dress!"

There was only one person who would have been able to wear Luna's dress with any dignity, and that was Luna herself. It fit loosely to her form, billowing around her lightly in the open doorway, and was adorned with a collection of bizarre decorative items. Huge, colourful feathers from birds that I didn't know existed, glinting stones and shiny silks, all held together by intricate weavings. It looked faintly ridiculous, of course, but also quite mesmerising at the same time.

"You don't talk to girls very much, do you Harry?" Luna replied, quite innocently. She did not mean it as an accusation or any kind of a criticism, just something that she had noticed and decided to discuss. That was the way that Luna lived.

Either way, she was right. Apart from Hermione, and Ginny (to a lesser extent) my social circle was pretty much male-dominated. I'd already duelled Voldemort, killed a basilisk and survived a killing curse by that point in my life, but I still couldn't help but feel faint at the knees when confronted with a girl I was interested in. But this was certainly not how I had expected the evening to start.

I replied, hoping to sound casual: "No, I suppose I don't."

Of course, talking to Luna was entirely different (and infinitely more easy) than trying to chat up Cho Chang in Madam Puddifoots, or dancing with Parvati Patil at the Yule Ball. She was my friend, and that was all.

"I didn't think so. You look very uncomfortable."

Hastily, I took her arm gently and started us moving in the direction of Slughorn's party. Anything to move the topic of discussion on from this veritable minefield.

But Luna had other ideas. "Don't worry, Harry. This is my first date, too."

I remember immediately feeling rather guilty upon hearing this admission. I had invited Luna to this party pretty much because there had been nobody else to bring; she deserved better on her first date, than to be the last resort of a desperate guy. My guilt was only compounded by the clear effort that she had put into getting ready for the occasion. Her hair, usually so wispy and uncontrolled, was brushed back quite neatly behind her ears while her fingernails were painted green with immaculate precision, and she even looked as though she had applied a modest amount of make-up.

As we walked, I found that Luna was actually exceptionally easy to talk to. She would happily chat away about anything and everything with little care and great enthusiasm.

"Professor Snape really isn't a very good DADA teacher, is he?" She chatted amiably. "At least, not as good as you were last year."

"Better than Umbridge, I suppose." I replied, grudgingly. "You must be finding it pretty easy after taking down those Death Eaters last year."

To that, Luna said: "Not really. I don't think that any magic is easy. If it was, I don't think it would be nearly as beautiful."

I was about to reply when an unwelcome jeer stopped me. "So, Potter's dating Loony Lovegood, eh? Well, I suppose it's a step up from the blood traitor or the mudblood."

Draco Malfoy strode towards us, followed by his two guffawing henchmen (apparently he'd just said something rather witty). Judging by his smile, which was even smugger than usual, and the rather self-satisfied glint in his eye, I guessed that he was pretty happy with his put-down. Victoriously, he flicked his hair back and licked his pale lips with his thin, snake-like tongue.

"Actually, we're going to Professor Slughorn's party. Oh, were you not invited?" Replied Luna, dreamily. As usual, she didn't sound remotely as though she was trying to be insulting, but instead just stating the facts as she saw them.

Malfoy seemed so shocked that Luna had dared to respond that he stuttered trying to formulate a swift retort; his smile quickly wiped away, and the glint in his eye extinguished. My date did not give him the opportunity to continue the exchange as she simply walked past him, dragging me at her side.

"Wow, Luna!" I laughed, looking back to see my rival's bemused face. "That was brilliant!"

"What?" She replied, confused. "I just told him the truth. My mother always told me that the best way to respond to bullies is just to hold a mirror to their faces."

"My godfather always told me that I should teach them a lesson."

Luna stopped suddenly and looked directly at me for the first time that evening, her eyes unusually focused. I had never seen her silvery-grey irises so clearly; they were actually quite beautiful, and certainly very unique.

"I'm very sorry about your gofather, Harry."

I reacted with a flinch. Half a year on, and I still hadn't got over that night at the Ministry; in fact, I was beginning to wonder whether I ever would. But I tended to forget that although Luna had never really known Sirius Black, she had been there when he fell, and knew better than most what it was like to lose the person dearest to you in the world.

"Well, there isn't much point dwelling on the past." I replied, composing myself. "Now come on, let's get to this party before all of the food runs out."

Slughorn always was a pretty lousy teacher, but credit to the man: he certainly knew how to throw a party. Guests, men and women, old and young, fluttered in and out like moths among the intimate whispering of the party's couples and groups. Buffet tables lined the edges of the room, garnished with spiced meats, colourful salads and steaming hot pastries. For drinks, a real bar had been set up in a slightly dimmed corner, serving gins, liquors and cordials for the adults, and butterbeers for the students. There was even a small orchestra, full of oboes and saxophones and violins and drums.

The air was alive with chatter and laughter, under bright lights and permeated with brilliant music. In the middle, conducting it all was Slughorn, the perfect host. He weaved between guests, linking interesting people up with other interesting people, taking great pleasure in every new introduction and every new name learned. But despite this, I knew from the look of sheer delight that illuminated his old, weary face as I entered the room with Luna on the arm, that I was the crowning jewel for this already glittering occasion.

As Slughorn, inevitably, began to push his way towards us, Luna gripped my arm excitedly.

"I do love parties. It's so colourful and vibrant." Suddenly, she slapped herself lightly on the forehead in disappointment. "If only I had brought my mongoose costume..."

That earned her an odd look from a number of guests around us, but before I had any opportunity to respond Slughorn was upon me. I was the jewel of his set, and wanted to show me off.

"Harry, my dear boy!" He said, jovially, as he shook my hand. "There are so many people I need you to meet. Come along, come along."

I tried to introduce the girl at my side. Slughorn had either ignored or just not noticed her in his excited fervour. "Uh, professor, this is my date, Luna Lovegood."

Luna touched my arm and said, lightly: "I don't think Professor Slughorn wants to talk to me right now, Harry. I'm going to go and get some food, if that's okay with you."

"Umm, of course. Go ahead. I'll come and find you in a little while."

She nodded absent-mindedly, before sauntering up to one of the numerous tables packed with scrumptious looking foods. The final thing I saw her do before Slughorn dragged me off into a close huddle of his acquaintances was to inspect a sausage roll very closely, literally holding it up to her eye like a telescope. A light smile danced over my lips; for the first time, I found myself actually glad that I had turned to her to be my date for this night. In a crowd of so many boring individuals, I had a feeling that I was going to need Luna's eccentricity if I was going to survive this party.

And so Slughorn went about presenting me to his friends as though I were his prize pig. I plastered a wide smile on my face as I was wheeled around the room, shaking hands and learning new names, only to them as soon as I turned away. At that time, my name was on the lips of every witch and wizard across the land: the Boy-Who-Lived; the Chosen One. Few people let me forget it but Luna, as ever, was an exception.

My eyes soon started to wander as Slughorn presented me to yet another of his guests: a short, clearly lonely man, who seemed so unused to human company that he flinched as my skin touched his as we shook hands. I remember distinctly feeling very sorry for that man, but I never thought I'd end up even remotely like him, and as such I paid little attention to what he said. Instead, my eyes flickered to Hermione, who was unhappily chatting away to Cormac McLaggen, and Luna swaying slowly, and completely out of time with the orchestra's music, on the dance floor.

"I've read about what you did at the Ministry last year. And the Triwizard tournament the year before." The short man, who's name I had already forgotten, said excitedly. He reminded me somewhat of Colin Creevy.

I churned out my usual robotic response. "Well, I really can't take much of the credit. I had help from my friends and a lot of luck on my side."

"Still, to have fought You-Know-Who three times by your age is very impressive." He continued, desperate for my favour.

The first time I fought Voldemort was when I was a baby, so I really can't take much credit. On that occasion, it was my parents who died for me. The second time was at the Triwizard tournament, when I pretty much ran around until I was saved by the ghosts of Voldemort's victims. On that occasion it was Cedric who died for me. And the final time was last year, when Voldemort immediately disarmed me and Dumbledore had to come to my rescue. That time, it was Sirius who died instead of me. And yet every day I had people praising my heroism. I was sick and tired of being commended for the martyrdom of other, much braver, people.

"Well, I really can't take much of the credit. I had help from my friends, and a lot of luck on my side." I replied again.

Slughorn looked at me worriedly, recognising my displeasure at this particular line of questioning. I could almost feel his desperation for me, his crowning jewel, to enjoy the party that he had spent so long preparing.

Fortunately, Luna glided to my side and addressed the short man: "I don't think Harry wants to talk to you any more."

Despite Slughorn's protests, she proceeded to drag me away. I shot an apologetic look back at my professor and the short man, neither of whom meant any harm, but I was certainly grateful for Luna's intervention.

"Thanks, Luna." I said once we were out of earshot. "I owe you, big time."

She responded by picking up a pastry from the table behind her, and started to take small, dainty bites from its corner.

"You looked quite miserable." She replied, in-between mouthfuls.

"I was. He was asking me about Voldemort."

She didn't flinch like most did (and still do) at that most dreaded of names, instead continuing to eat her pastry as a pink candle on a nearby table caught her interest. I wondered whether she simply didn't fear the name, or whether she just hadn't been concentrating. It always was hard to tell with Luna.

"Would you like to dance?" I suggested, weakly, figuring that it was my duty to ask.

Her response was quite extraordinary, even for Luna. I remember it well: her thin eyebrows furrowed and her eyes narrowed; she slowly put down the pastry and began to scratch the smooth curve of her chin. I felt as though I was being examined, studied, probed.

"Nobody has ever asked me to dance before." She eventually replied. Luna isn't even a tiny bit suspicious by nature, indeed she tends to only look for the best in people, but I got the impression that she was surprised and even somewhat distrustful of my proposal. Fifteen years of being avoided and laughed at, I supposed, could do that to a person.

I took her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor, submerged in a mass of writhing bodies moving rhythmically to the orchestra's music. It was certainly the most crowded part of the entire room, but equally the most intimate, as each dancer dedicated all of their concentration to their dancing partner, and their partner alone.

My blonde-haired date began to smile, as her slight suspicions subsided, and started to dance in much the same way as I had seen her doing before. It was a slow, swaying motion, like trees in an evening breeze, that in no way fit the tone or rhythm of the music that was playing. The motion freed a few of her hairs, which had been so carefully combed back, and I couldn't help but think she looked better that way. More natural; more Luna-like.

I began to imitate her dance, and was surprised by how liberating it felt. We were attracting our fair share of odd glances, but neither of us cared. And I realised that this was how Luna lived her entire life: she did what she wanted to do, what she felt like doing, without caring how it made others feel about her. I only wished that I could do the same.

"I quite like dancing," Luna said happily as she did a spontaneous little turn. "My mother used to dance all the time. She had a gramophone in her lab, and she would turn it on while she was mixing potions."

I replied, honestly: "She sounds like a fascinating woman."

Another smile illuminated her face. If you looked past all of Luna's oddities and quirks and eccentricities, she was actually a very pretty girl, especially when she smiled. Her beauty was modest rather than overbearing, with teeth as white as Fleur Delacour's, pale unblemished skin, and waist-length hair coloured a dirty blonde that seemed entirely unique to her

"What are you looking at, Harry?" She asked dreamily. I averted my eyes quickly as my cheeks began to burn up.

There was no accusation there, but I blushed a little bit anyway. "Nothing. I'm just really happy I asked you, that's all."

A powerful crescendo marked the end of a song, but the orchestra wasted no time in starting a new one. It was slower, deeper, more guttural than the previous songs, but Luna's dance did not change. I wondered: could she even hear the music, or was she just dancing instinctively?

"I'm going to get a drink. Can I get you one?" I eventually said after a long, pleasant and comfortable silence. Luna's unfocused eyes flickered suddenly onto me, as I woke her from her reverie.

"Oh, no thank you. Unless they have dirigible plum juice, that is. But I doubt they will. It's quite rare and very difficult to produce."

The bar did serve an impressive variety of drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic, and of all shapes, sizes and colours, but the bartender outright laughed in my face when I asked him whether he served dirigible plum juice. Perhaps it was a by-product of spending so much time with Luna, but I found that his derision had no effect on me whatsoever. As my thick, golden butterbeer was poured behind the bar, I turned to look at my date. Had she even realised that I had gone? It was, as ever with Luna, difficult to tell; certainly, she had not moved or changed her routine since I moved.

Such was my interest in Luna's mannerisms, that I barely noticed a presence slip onto the barstool next to me. But six years of friendship, through thick and thin, told me that it was Hermione, without even having to turn to check.

"How's your date going?" She asked, with perhaps a tiny measure of amusement. Hermione and Luna were friends, sure, but I'd always felt a certain tension between the two of them. The brunette put her faith in books and definite fact; Luna tended to believe in the unseen, unproven and generally unlikely.

"Better than yours, I bet." I retorted defensively. "Luna's been brilliant company. Certainly better than Cormac McLaggen."

We simultaneously turned to look at her 'hot date', who appeared to have hauled one of the waiters to one side so that he could boast of his Quidditch exploits and legendary magical skill.

She groaned."What was I thinking, inviting him?'

"Well, Ron is furious about it, so I guess you could say it's worth it."

That particular comment earned me a light slap on the shoulder, while bartender slid my foaming, golden butterbeer across the counter and I picked it up to take a long sip, letting it warm my mouth.

"I'd better get back to my date." I said eventually, standing up with my butterbeer. "And so had you."

I began to squeeze my way across the dance floor, through the writhing mass of animated bodies and veering around those lip-locked couples who certainly did not want to be disturbed until I reached Luna. She'd stopped dancing now, but was still at the centre of the dance floor, simply staring across the room.

"Sorry, no dirigible plum juice." I said apologetically when I reached her.

Once again shaken out of her trance, she turned and a vague half-smile flitted over her face briefly.

"Oh, that's all right. I've got some under my bed, anyway."

Then, she turned back to stare across the room again.

"What are you looking at?" I asked, curiously.

"Oh, only Ginny. Do you think she's upset with me?"

I furrowed my eyebrows and joined her in staring at the younger sister of my best friend. She certainly didn't look upset in any way, considering her mouth was attached to Dean Thomas, while her hands roamed adventurously over his back. A pang of jealousy coursed briefly through my veins, like a shot of adrenaline; I had sort of a half-crush on her, which while was not strong enough that I had ever summoned up the courage to ask her out, still inclined me to feel territorial when she got intimate with other men.

"She doesn't look overly upset, Luna." I eventually replied, humorously. "What made you think that she was?"

"Well, it's just that she wants to sleep with you, that's all. She said so."

With a loud splutter, I spit a large mouthful of butterbeer onto the floor a few feet in front of me, thankfully not on Luna, who looked at me oddly. How could she possibly say that so casually, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world?

"I think I'll go and ask her."

She began to saunter in the direction of her red-headed best friend, but I grabbed her arm and gently pulled her back. The coldness of her skin shocked me; her arm felt like an intricately carved ice sculpture.

"Wait, Luna. Don't you think she might be a bit busy at the moment?"

The blonde looked at me, then at Ginny (and Dean) and then back at me again, nodding thoughtfully. Instead, I guided her softly to the edge of the room, next to one of the fast-emptying buffet tables.

I ran my hands through my hair, and said: "Look, Luna. How about we don't talk about Ginny any more? I asked you to come tonight because I wanted your company, not Ginny's."

She seemed to consider this for a few seconds, and then nodded enthusiastically. And then we began to talk.

Even today, I remember the evening in almost perfect detail – indeed, I have often in the last ten years replayed it in my head on lonely miserable nights when only happy memories can offer relief to my situation – and I vividly recall this being the most pleasant part of the evening. Going into that party, I hadn't known very much at all about Luna Lovegood; but here, in the quietly dying embers of Slughorn's Christmas party, she opened up to me like a blossoming flower in spring time. I realised for the first time that she was, at heart, a normal girl, even if her character had been forged by tragedy.

I learned of Luna's mother's lifelong love of magic and ambition to experiment with it beyond the bounds of normal human curiosity. It was this unbridled passion that had been her downfall but Luna seemed happy, at least, that her mother had died doing what she loved. Luna and Pandora Lovegood shared a mutual wonder and admiration for all things magical. At some point while my date for the night was telling me all of this, a photographer came to snap our picture, but we barely noticed him, such was the captivating nature of Luna's story.

Eventually, we were the last people remaining at the party, other than Slughorn, who surveyed the aftermath of his successful party like a victorious king on the battlefield. I'd scarcely noticed everybody else file out, until Slughorn rolled over to tell us himself.

"Harry, m'boy." He said proudly, clearly satisfied that I had stayed the duration of his party. "You'd better be off, or Minerva will have my guts for garters."

I checked my watch: midnight had passed long ago without either of us noticing.

"So have you enjoyed my little party?" Slughorn asked eagerly, as I helped Luna up and started hastily towards the exit.

"I had a very nice time." I replied truthfully, choosing not the specify the reason for my enjoyment. "But I was a bit disappointed by the lack of dirigible plum juice at the bar."

My potions professor looked at me somewhat oddly, just as the bartender had done, but he was so eager to please his crowning jewel that he quickly replaced the expression with an assured smile.

"Of course I'll make sure we have it next time." He laughed uneasily. "Good night, Harry, Miss Lovegood."

The door shut behind us, and we started to walk slowly in the direction of the Ravenclaw Common Room.

"I didn't know that you like dirigible plum juice, too." Luna said suddenly.

Concealing a smile, I replied: "No, it's just you asked for it earlier, so I thought I might..."

I tailed off, unsure of myself. Someone more romantically secure would probably have managed to turn it into a grand romantic gesture, but as usual I was left sounding like a bit of a fool.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that." Luna smiled bizarrely. "But it was very sweet."

We reached the Ravenclaw common room, and she turned to face me. I found myself genuinely reluctant to leave: a new experience for me, after a date, after the disasters of the Yule Ball and Hogsmeade.

"Thank you for inviting me, Harry." Luna said with that endearing smile, that never failed to reach her eyes. "Having friends really is very nice."

Luna never lied. She always said exactly what she thought with simplicity and casualness, no matter the subject of the conversation. This pleased me: I was glad that Luna had actually had a nice time, especially considering it was her first date.

"I'm just glad I invited you." I replied, happily.

Luna abruptly brought a close to the evening, but I was not insulted. That was just what she did.

"I'll see you around, Harry." She said, planting an innocent kiss on my cheek before turning around and skipping to the common room door. I stood and watched as she quickly answered the riddle and sauntered inside, without turning back. And it was only as I turned to leave myself, that I realised I could still feel Luna's lips, so much warmer than the rest of her skin, on my cheek.

My first date with Luna is a memory that I love to revisit: back then I had no idea what would follow over the next few months between us. Opening my eyes, I get up from my armchair by the glittering embers of my dying fire and walk slowly to the mantelpiece. On it, I have a collection of photos, scarily similar to Slughorn's notorious 'shelf'. One photograph is the clear centrepiece, framed in an expensive silver case, and surrounded by my parents, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, the Weasleys, and so many other people who I have tried to remember.

It is the picture taken on that night, while I talked with Luna. Neither of us are even looking at the photographer, both of us too engrossed in each other; I'm looking at Luna, while she speaks, in a way that every young and romantic girl wants to be looked at sometime. She has on her face that dazed, absent smile, that somehow transmits a quality of eternal reassurance despite never quite focusing or settling on one particular thing.

With that photograph, my favourite photograph, in hand, I extinguish the glowing embers of my fire and retire to bed, as close to feeling happy as I have done in a long, long time.


End file.
